


Highland Is Calling

by StarFeather



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: HPFT, LGBTQA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 18:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7475865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarFeather/pseuds/StarFeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gideon’s elder brother, Orion Crumb, the great bagpipe player died of Firewhiskey intoxication.<br/>This is a story about the lead vocalist, Myron Wagtail and the lead guitarist, Kirley Duke of the Weird Sitsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highland Is Calling

After two days from the funeral of Orion Crumb, Myron Wagtail stayed at home. The air of his hometown was perfectly clear, and all five of his senses welcomed its coolness. He murmured to himself, “I’ve missed this.”

Beaming at his son, the grey haired man put down a tea set on the rough wooden table by the window.“Are you a deserter?”

Cynically he uttered, “Maybe I am.” He glanced up from the window and smiled at the perfectly blue sky which had appeared for a while after the thunder and rain. The top of the mountain was crowned with clouds, so it wasn’t seen from there but he could imagine the entire majestic view of it. He stretched his limbs and yawned.

“Desperado, have a seat,” Mr. Wagtail chuckled and beckoned Myron to sit down.

Enclosed fields, which were crowded with sheep, were seen from the open window. Each sheep was painted with vibrant red paint to show who owned them. He sat down opposite of his father and reached out for a mug. He felt thankful for his father’s care.

Familiar flavors of mint tea wafted in the room. When Myron sipped the strong tea, his father asked him again, “Are you a loser?”

Gravel paths ran through the green patches. In the distance, he could see the surface of the stream. Staring at the sight, Myron hesitated to respond for a while and answered, “No, I’m not. I’ve not even tried.”

“How can you give up so soon? I like your voice. You’d better sing, my son. Your mother loved singing.”

It was his mother who taught him how to sing. “I can sing here, too.”

“Jamboree, your mother loved that. She loved to sing in the pubs.” Aly Wagtail grinned at his son. He nodded towards the instrument at the corner of the room.

Kilt clothes were slipped down and Myron grabbed his lute and started strumming the strings. “I’ll restart singing at Aunty Mary’s pub.” He pulled his wand from his pocket and removed the old strings. “Well, I suppose, eh, they have a session at Molly’s Tavern tonight?” He stood up.

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Loud music was heard from the entrance of the tavern which was crowded with drunkards and young people who liked gossip and musician’s talks. Myron found familiar faces and went to the round table surrounded with musicians.

Maroon hair jumped into his sight, Myron noticed he was Herman Wintringham. “Hey, Myron. When did you come back? We’ve been thinking of you since you left. Is this a return gig from London?” he picked up the lute.

“No, I came back because this is my town. That’s all, Herman.”

“Oh, did you? I’ve been waiting for one of your songs to be played on the radio.” said Herman Wintringham as he started playing a minor tune.

Pain passed through his mind. “Yeah, I tried hard but you know, out there, life is so complicated.” Myron bit his lips. There are plenty of people like me to be found. *

 

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Quavering at the thought of his original lyrics being played on stage, he stood by the bar counter. He was waiting for the chance to talk to the charismatic guitarist, Kirley Duke. The jet-black haired man wore a touch of makeup, which attracted young witches. It was hard to get close to him. Myron jostled his way through them. One of them, a curly ginger haired girl glared at him when he accidentally pushed her.  
Kirley put his guitar on the stage floor and started playing the piano. Myron was mesmerized by the dexterous movements of his fingers. The slender beautiful fingers beat and danced on the ivory and ebony keys creating powerful waves of music. He felt like Kirley had ten hands or used his magic. He didn’t know Kirley Duke was such a splendid pianist. When the song was finished, Myron stood on the stage without realizing it.

He spoke, “Oh, hi. You’re super awesome,” and he couldn’t remember what he said after that or what he sang, but he noticed the audience including the curly ginger girl who had glared at him, were cheering and clapping.

That was his first exciting experience since he had started the city life. Kirley and he were in the spot light. They played together in the audience for the first time.

Kirley broke into a broad smile and said, “Good voice. They need more. What will you play next?”

“Well, I wrote some words to go with your song.” His voice trembled slightly.

“ Which song?”

Relived, Myron searched for a lute on the stage, and found an old one which had some scrapes on the surface. He picked it up and began singing. Kirley accompanied him on his guitar. It was a ballad. When they finished playing, a hush fell over the audience. It was so surreal, Kirley Duke beamed at him and he introduced him to a dark haired wizard, who was the owner of the Palace of Phoenix which was a gateway to a musical career in the Wizarding music scene. He was aware of his old Muggle jeans and felt embarrassed suddenly seeing Kirley Duke’s artfully torn smart black robes. The owner was clad in a tight black T-shirts and leather pants. He was handsome as hell. When his blue eyes looked at Myron, they were filled with desire which he had never felt before. He felt his heart beat faster, but he couldn’t understand why. The strange feeling almost made him want to run away.

Kirley’s eyes were full of amusement as he whispered to Myron, “Matt likes you. You’ve got a chance to rise to stardom.”

Since then Myron and Kirley formed a duo and worked for Matthew Turner. They made a perfect pair. They composed lots of songs one after another. As Celestina Warbeck had sung at the Palace of Phoenix before she recorded her jazzy hit song, “A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love”, Matt promised to record their songs at the end of the year. That information inflated Myron’s expectation that he would be a musician for a living after those gigs at the Palace of Phoenix. Next year, he would be able to say good-bye to the days when he had been aimlessly knocking at the door of an unknown tavern to play his music.  
He was full of hope until he witnessed Matt kiss Kirley in his office. When he and a bass player, Donaghan Tremlet parted in his dressing room, he went back to Matt’s office to talk about the next gig. He wanted to mix the wizard’s dark music with Muggle rock’ n’ roll music. The audience was satisfied with their ballads but he believed in his own sense. He wanted to talk with Kirley and Matt about their music. The door wasn’t locked and hung half-open. He entered the room noiselessly. The office was full of magical posters in which famous singers and musicians waved their hands and beamed at him. The sofas for guests were empty and he sped into a small back room. He was so engrossed in his idea that he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Matt was kissing Kirley. It was a shocking scene. He couldn’t put the emotions that he felt at the time into words even now. He couldn’t hide his disgust. He didn’t know why, but he felt very strongly that Kirley was kissing the wrong person. He knew he couldn’t love Matthew. He wished he could realize who really cared about him the most. Maybe it was jealousy, but the relationship the two of them shared made him hate them.

Trapped. “How dare you,” he punched Matt on the jaw.

Unconsciously he struck his opponent with a mighty blow. It was too late when Myron regained consciousness. Matthew pulled out his wand, which left Myron imagining that he was stunned by the owner. He grabbed his wand, too. Kirley placed himself between Matt and him. He pulled out his wand quietly and pointed at the bruise on Matthew’s cheek. Soon the bruise was gone. Matthew lit up a cigarette and blew smoke into Myron’s face. The handsome owner didn’t bat an eyelash. The mask was gone.

Violently his words attacked Myron. “I don’t have to hire you, Myron. You’re too young to sing ballads. Plenty of replacement are lining up in front of my office.”

Watching his cold look, Myron noticed Matt didn't say anything of his talent. He just let him sing for Kirley who happened to like his voice. Matthew was just happy to let Kirley have his way and didn’t have to hire a hick like him in the first place. There was a plenty like him to be found. That was when he got an owl from Gideon Crumb from highland. Gideon’s elder brother, Orion Crumb, the great bagpipe player died of Firewhiskey intoxication.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Xanthic flowers swayed back and forth in the wind. Gideon played the bagpipe his brother left at the top of the hill. The sad air tune resounded through the highland. Early summer visited. Myron and Herman sat down by Gideon and they started playing the lute together. They played some local popular songs and Myron played one of the hit songs Kirley composed. Herman grinned wide, Myron smiled back and he sang the same song along with the lute. Gideon copied the song with his bagpipe and followed them.

Yonder across the hills, they saw five men approach them. Myron noticed there were Kirley and Donaghan. He didn’t know the rest of them. Kirley Duke beamed at him and waved his hand in the air.

Zephyr carried Kirley’s bright voice to Myron. “I broke it off with Matthew. We’ll organize our new band. The name will be the Weird Sisters.”

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A/N: This story was written for these two story challenges: The A to Z one-shot challenge by DaaOne

& Inspired by a song challenge by toomanycurls. ＊Good-bye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John : There’s a plenty like me to be found

 Beta Reading by awesome Treacle Tart.


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